Before Tomorrow
by Menthol Pixie
Summary: Dad's missing, November 2nd is approaching, and now Jess is calling saying that there's something up with Sam. Dean heads to Palo Alto to try to figure out what's going on. EpilepticSam 'verse.
1. Chapter 1

**Before Tomorrow**

Summary: Dad's missing, November 2nd is approaching, and now Jess is calling saying that there's something up with Sam. Dean heads to Palo Alto to try to figure out what's going on. EpilepticSam 'verse.

A/N: Epileptic Sam 'verse. This one will have three chapters and is set just before the pilot.

 **Chapter One**

Jess calls late. Dean has to swallow down disappointment when his bleary eyes focus on the Caller ID. He'd been hoping the call was from Dad, not to mention the fact that Jess ringing him usually means something's up with Sam.

"He all right?" Dean answers, dropping down on the bed for what might be his last chance at being horizontal for a while, depending on Jess's answer.

"Something's up with him," she says, predictable as ever, and not at all put out by the lack of a 'hello'. He always answers calls like this and Jess generally appreciates him getting to the point, especially when it's an emergency. Jess doesn't sound upset so he's guessing this isn't urgent but she is speaking quietly, which means Sam doesn't know she's calling.

Dean scrubs a hand down his face, knuckling sleep out of his eyes. "What kind of something?" he asks, a small twinge of hope fluttering in his gut as it occurs to him that maybe this has something to do with Dad's disappearance.

"I'm not sure exactly." Jess sounds puzzled under her concern, a lilt of apprehension in her voice. "He's been having seizures at night, big ones, and more than usual. And I think he's having nightmares as well but he won't talk to me about them. He's just acting really weird."

Damn. For a moment there Dean had thought that Dad might have gone to see Sam for some secret mission Dean wasn't allowed to know about. At this point, he wouldn't even be pissed off about being left out of the loop, just relieved to know that Dad is still...

He's being stupid. Of course Dad's still alive. He just hasn't made contact in a while because of... whatever his reasons are.

"Dean? Are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry." Dean pushes his thoughts about Dad aside. "So, acting weird, huh? You sure it's not just Sam being Sam? He's always been weird."

The joke falls flat. It's like he can hear Jess shaking her head. "He's not sleeping, like, at all if he can help it. It's messing with his epilepsy now and he still tries to stay awake all night, but he won't tell me what's going on. Has he talked to you?"

Dean frowns. None of that sounds good. "No, he hasn't said anything. Want me to swing by and talk to him?" It'll mean time off from searching for Dad but he has nothing but dead ends anyway. Maybe a problem he can fix will be good for him.

"Could you?" Jess asks, relief bleeding into her tone. "I mean, if you're too busy I could keep trying to..."

She trails off and it's obvious that she's run out of ideas on how to get Sam to open up.

"It's fine. I'm actually close by anyway." Somehow, his fruitless search for Dad has found him drifting towards Palo Alto. "I can be there tomorrow. And Jess, try not to worry too much. You know Sam, he's always stressing about something. I'll knock some sense into him."

XXX

Usually Sam is delighted by surprise visits from his brother but the next evening Dean finds himself at Sam's door watching the kid's face fall at the sight of him.

"You called Dean?" Sam asks incredulously over his shoulder, leaving Dean in the doorway as he spins around and stomps into the kitchen.

"Well, hello to you too," Dean mutters to empty air, inviting himself in and shutting the door behind him. He drops his bag by the couch and heads to the kitchen.

"I can't believe you," Sam's saying. "I told you to drop it."

"You're making yourself sick," Jess says firmly. "And if you don't want to talk to me about it, that's fine, but you obviously need to talk to someone."

"There's nothing to talk about," Sam fumes, which is obviously complete bullshit. Dean's been here all of twenty seconds and he's already taken in Sam's hollow, sleepless eyes and shaking hands, and even if he hadn't, the only time he's heard Sam snap at Jess like this was when the kid was trialling some new medication that sent his mood spiralling all over the place. "Damn it, Jess, you don't need to go running to my brother every time I have a seizure. I'm _fine_."

Jess puts her hands on her hips and glares. She looks exhausted too, her usually vibrant eyes dull and dark-ringed, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Dean doesn't doubt that she's spent many of Sam's sleepless nights awake with him. "Don't lie to me, Sam Winchester," she snaps. "There are enough lies in this relationship already."

Sam falls back a step as though pushed, the irritation in his eyes switching to guilt. Even Dean averts his gaze – he's done his fair share of dodging Jess's questions himself, after all – and for a moment they all stand in the kitchen with the weight of the accusation silencing them. Jess looks startled by her boldness. Sam shakes his head helplessly, then turns and brushes past Dean on his way to the door.

"Sam!" Jess barks. Her voice is still sharp but there's regret in her face. "Sam, where are you going?"

She goes to follow but Dean stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Who knows? Maybe this is about Dad, or something else Sam can't talk to Jess about. "I'll get him."

Jess sighs, shoulders dropping, and Dean doesn't miss the way she swipes her hand surreptitiously under her eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. That was dumb. Whatever you guys aren't telling me is none of my business. I'm just so tired and I keep letting him wind me up."

"Hey," Dean says gently. "It'll be okay. I'll sort this out."

He gives her a quick hug before heading back out the door he just came in, feeling a little guilty about leaving Jess alone and upset in the kitchen. She was right though; something's going on with Sam and he needs to talk to the kid if he wants to figure out what. It doesn't take long to find him. Sam's only gone as far as the Impala, parked outside the building. He's perched on the bonnet, elbows on his knees as he presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. He looks exhausted, and tense, and miserable.

Dean strides over and aims a punch at his brother's shoulder. Sam's head jerks up, hands falling away from his face.

"What was that for?"

"Be nice to Jess," Dean scolds. "She's worried about you."

"There's nothing to worry about," Sam mutters, dropping his head again, as if that's going to hide anything.

Dean rolls his eyes, even though Sam can't see him, and hoists himself up onto the car. "Don't be an idiot. You're fucking transparent."

Sam shrugs.

"So what is it?" Dean asks, bumping Sam's shoulder, softly this time, with his own. "Jess said you were having nightmares."

"They're not nightmares." Sam picks at a loose thread in his jeans, avoiding Dean's gaze. "Well, they kind of are, but they're not, not really."

"Oh, well, that clears that up."

Sam huffs a laugh but it's short-lived. He's managed to pull the thread from it's weave of denim and he tosses it on the ground despondently. "It's just epilepsy. There's nothing you can do about it."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "When has there ever been nothing I can do?"

Sam glances at him, indecision flickering in his eyes for a second before he lets his hair fall back in his face. "It's really nothing. I'm just stressed, that's all. I have that interview coming up, and school, and fucking seizures, like always, and it's Mom's anniversary soon..."

Sam trails off, apparently out of excuses, and Dean knows this kid so freaking well, it's so freaking obvious that none of these things are the problem that he doesn't know why Sam bothers trying to lie.

"What happens in your nightmares?"

"They're not nightmares, they're just seizures. People see weird stuff sometimes..." Sam trails off again but this time his eyes slide out of focus (speak of the devil). Instinctively, Dean reaches out to grasp Sam's arm, just in case the kid tries to make out with the pavement, but a moment later he sees the light switch back on and Sam's glancing down at the hand on his bicep in vague surprise, before frustration has him pushing off of the Impala. Dean's tempted to keep a hold of the kid because it looks like he could topple over at any moment but that would just piss Sammy off so he releases his grip and lets Sam steady himself.

"I should apologize to Jess," Sam mutters, acting like he's forgotten that he hasn't actually told Dean what happens in his not-nightmares.

Dean just nods though because getting Sam inside – and in bed as soon as possible – seems like a good idea. He pushes off of the Impala to follow. No wonder Jess is so worried. Whatever's going on with Sam, no matter what the dumb kid says, it's not just epilepsy.

XXX

Sam falls asleep on the couch after an awkwardly quiet (and delicious, damn, Dean loves Jess's cooking) dinner. Dean had convinced – read: ordered – the kid to just sit the hell down and rest for a minute while he and Jess did the dishes and, as he expected, that was all it took.

"Do you think he needs new meds?" Jess asks, wrist-deep in soapy water and not looking at all convinced by her own question. Sam's been on this lot too long for a bunch of side effects to randomly rear their ugly heads.

"No, I think the nightmares are the problem. Seizures in his sleep aren't anything new but I've never seen him so freaked out by them before." Dean takes the plate Jess passes him and wipes it down. Jess nods like he's just confirming her suspicions. Sometimes Dean forgets that she knows Sam almost as well as he does.

"Did he tell you what they're about?" Jess looks at him sideways, obviously wondering whether he'd tell her even if Sam had chosen to divulge the details. She was right before; there have been too many lies, too many secrets. But what can they do? There are monsters and then there's this normal life that Sammy's somehow put together. At least Dean can be honest about this.

"No, he said he's just stressed and listed off a bunch of reasons why, then had an absence seizure and pretended to forget that I asked." Dean puts the plate away in the cupboard and takes the next one. "Or really did forget. It's hard to tell with him."

Jess sighs. "I love him but, Jesus, he can be stubborn. I don't understand why he won't just tell me what's wrong."

She pulls the plug out of the sink and watches the water circle the drain. "You don't think it's _me_ , do you?"she asks hesitantly, and Dean almost drops the plate he's putting away.

" _You_? Why would you think that?"

Jess shrugs uncertainly. "I think I'm in the nightmare," she says, dropping her voice just in case Sam has woken up. "The way he looks at me afterwards... I've been trying to help but it's like nothing I say or do gets through to him, and now we're both sleep-deprived and stressed and I keep messing up. Like, we had this big fight about a Halloween party a few days ago. It was so stupid. I just thought it might be good for him to do something fun, you know? But maybe I shouldn't have pushed so hard. It's not like we have to go, even if I do have this great costume-"

"Jess, stop." Dean hold up his hands to halt her rambling. "It's not you, okay? This is something else. I can tell. And I'll figure out what it is. Sammy always spills eventually."

He smiles at her reassuringly and she manages a small smile back, before the sound of breaking glass wipes it from her face. They're out of the kitchen and in the sitting room fast enough to see the shards bounce across the carpet.

No matter how many times Dean sees Sam in the throes of tonic-clonic seizures (and there have been many, many times) it always feels like a punch to the gut. Automatically, he scans the area but Sam doesn't look like he's in danger of falling off the couch and the broken cup is on the floor on the other side of the coffee table anyway. Sam must have kicked a table leg and knocked it off. Thankfully, the seizure is already slowing, the spasms lessening in intensity until they finally stop completely. Sam slumps over and Dean reaches out to guide him down on the couch. Sam blinks slowly, looking straight through Dean with the usual post-seizure (freaky as shit) blankness.

Jess has gone back to the kitchen, returning quickly with a brush and tray to start sweeping up the glass. Dean stays crouched in front of Sam, waiting for recognition to seep back into his gaze.

"Wha...?" Sam slurs finally. His clouded eyes slide over the room, slow and confused, and settle on Dean.

"Give it a minute, kiddo," Dean says. "It'll all come back."

It does, of course, but instead of the relieved clarity or frustration that usually appears once Sam's memory returns after a fit, his eyes widen with renewed panic and he tries to push himself up.

"Whoa," Dean exclaims, rearing back a little in surprise. "Sammy, calm down."

"Jess," Sam gasps, abandoning the fight with his still uncoordinated, and probably aching, limbs, instead looking around the room desperately. "Where...?"

"She's right here," Dean says quickly, shifting to the side so he's no longer blocking Sam's line of sight. Jess abandons her cleaning and comes to kneel down beside Dean, reaching out to smooth Sam's hair out of his face, her touch tender and worried.

"I'm here, Sam," Jess says, with a soft smile that doesn't erase the concern in her expression.

Sam reaches up a trembling hand to grasp her wrist. "You're here. I thought..." he trails off, confused, studying her face like he's trying to memorise every detail – Jess's eyes flick towards Dean just long enough for him to understand that this is what she was talking about in the kitchen – before shaking his head a little. "Sorry. I don't know what I thought. That was... Was that a big one?"

"Full on funky chicken," Dean confirms. "You want help getting to bed?"

Sam blinks at him. "What- no, I'm fine. I don't need..." He struggles to sit up, limbs still slow and uncooperative. "I can sleep later."

"Uh, no, you can sleep now," Dean scoffs. "Jesus, Sammy, didn't you hear me? Full funky chicken. You need to get some rest."

Sam's shaking his head before Dean even finishes speaking so he decides not to give his kid brother the chance to argue. "It's either that or you can explain to us what's going on with you right now. Your decision."

"That's not fair," Sam moans, finally managing to drag himself into a sitting position, resting his elbows on his knees so he can press the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.

"Life's not fair," Dean states dismissively. "Made up your mind yet?"

"You suck, jerk," Sam pouts belligerently, but he holds out his arm to Jess in a mute invitation to help him to the bedroom so, for now, Dean just counts it as a win.

"And you're a pain in the ass, bitch," he says lovingly.

 **To Be Continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Before Tomorrow**

Summary: Dad's missing, November 2nd is approaching, and now Jess is calling saying that there's something up with Sam. Dean heads to Palo Alto to try to figure out what's going on. EpilepticSam 'verse.

Chapter Two

"So the nightmare's about Jess?" Dean asks over coffee the next morning. Jess has already left for an early shift at the coffee shop and it's the perfect time to try to get Sam to open up.

Sam, however, doesn't seem to agree. He's on his second cup of coffee and still slumped over the arm of the couch, rubbing his dark-ringed eyes. He's rocking a serious case of bed-head but all that proves is that he lay down. Dean's not sure how much he actually slept. Probably not much, given that Sam's response is to moan at him and smoosh his face into the couch. "Don't."

"You know I'm gonna figure it out eventually. May as well just spill." Dean settles himself down on the couch, leaning up against the arm opposite Sam so he can annoy the kid by kicking at his feet.

This would be nice, he thinks vaguely, if Sam wasn't having some sort of crisis. Mornings at Jess and Sam's house; he can just picture them in a few years with a couple of kids running around, Uncle Dean stopping in between hunts...

"There's nothing to spill," Sam says into the couch. "It's just epilepsy. You can't stop me from having seizures. Anyway, I bet Dad's already waiting for you, right? What are you two hunting next?"

Dean says nothing. He'd been hoping he could get to the bottom of what's wrong with Sam before this came up and he's been too preoccupied worrying about everyone to come up with an excuse for their father's absence. He doesn't want to lie to the kid anyway.

Sam raises his head and squints at him suspiciously. "Dean?"

Dean finds himself staring into his coffee cup to avoid Sam's gaze. "I kind of don't know where Dad is," he admits. "He's not answering my calls."

Sam sits up straight, suddenly looking a lot more awake than Dean's seen him since he got here. "You don't know where he is?" he echoes incredulously, slamming his empty cup down on the coffee table and swinging his legs off the couch, as if he's going to jump up and start searching right now. "What the hell are you doing here then? Why aren't you looking for him?"

"What do you think I've been doing?" Dean huffs indignantly. "He doesn't want to be found, otherwise I would've found him."

Sam's eyes are wide. "What if he's hurt? What if something took him? Oh my God, Dean, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd freak out like this." Dean rolls his eyes, setting his coffee cup down calmly and hoping that he's coming off more confident than he feels. He is fairly certain that Dad is avoiding him on purpose but he has no idea why or where or anything and that leaves a decent amount of room for doubt. Still, there's no point piling more stress on Sammy right now. "Trust me, Sam, this is deliberate. We're not amateurs, you know. Me and Dad always have fail-safes in place so the other knows if things go sour, which means he's covering his tracks on purpose. Probably just drinking himself into oblivion somewhere in between hunts."

"You think it's about Mom?" Sam asks, studying him carefully. Dean can tell that the kid isn't convinced that there's nothing to worry about but he doesn't look quite so ready to run out the door and track their father down.

"What else would it be about at this time of year? November 2nd is only a few days away." As if either of them need reminding.

"I guess," Sam says uncertainly.

"Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject," Dean adds.

"I didn't change the subject," Sam denies immediately, sinking back into the couch like a minute of sitting up straight has sapped all the energy he has. "Dad being missing is way more important than a few bad dreams."

"Seems like more than a few," Dean says pointedly. "And they're not just bad dreams, they're seizures. Do you have them every time you fall asleep?"

Sam ducks behind his hair. "Pretty much," he admits, kicking absently at the leg of the coffee table.

"So did they get more or less frequent after you decided to completely fuck up your sleeping schedule?"

He doesn't need to see the kid's face to know that Sam is scowling. "More, okay? I'm not an idiot, Dean. I know I need to sleep."

Dean ignores that because knowing he needs sleep and actually sleeping are two different things. "What did Doctor Whatshisname say about it?"

"That lots of people see weird stuff during seizures," Sam recites dully.

"Okay, so the doc says it's normal, you say it got worse when you stopped sleeping properly, and you still decided that the best plan of action was staying awake for the rest of your life?" The ' _you idiot_ ' is heavily implied. "Must be one hell of a dream."

"It's just a stupid nightmare," Sam mutters stubbornly. "Just drop it, please?"

Dean would love to drop it and just hang out with his brother without trying to force a chick-flick moment – Hell, Sammy looks so freaking miserable and exhausted that Dean would love to just wrap the kid up in his arms and stay like that until everything miraculously fixes itself – but there's the tonic-clonic seizure last night and the fact that Sam's eyes have slid in and out of focus at least five times already this morning to consider.

"I can't. You're making yourself sick, Sammy."

"It's Sam," Sam retorts evasively.

"You're making yourself sick, _Sam_ ," Dean corrects himself sarcastically. "You can't just stay awake forever. Sooner or later you're gonna have to talk about it."

"Later then," Sam says.

"That's not what I meant." Dean has to grit his teeth and tuck his fists under his armpits to stop himself from smacking his brother. Somehow he always manages to forget just how frustrating the kid can be. " _Later_ you'll be knocked out by another tonic-clonic because you haven't fucking slept."

Sam shakes his head, shrinking further back into the couch. "You don't get it. I'll have a fit if I fall asleep. They always happen when I'm asleep."

Dean bumps Sam's knee with his foot. "You've never been so scared of sleeping before."

Sam is silent so Dean goes on.

"You _know_ it's not uncommon for people to see things during fits, Sam. Whatever it is, it's just your crazy brain messing with you."

"I know." Sam huffs out a frustrated sigh. "But it doesn't seem like it when it's happening. It feels real. As real as sitting here with you does."

Dean leans forward, hooking an arm around his knees and peering up under Sam's curtain of hair. "So talk to me about it. Maybe it'll help. It's not like it's gonna hurt and, honestly, Sam, if our only other option is you never sleeping again, I think we're gonna have to take the chick-flick moment."

Sam turns his face away, dropping his head back onto the couch to avoid Dean's gaze. "It's just a nightmare."

"It must be a pretty bad one to freak you out like this."

This time the silence lasts so long that Dean starts weighing the pros and cons of just beating the answers out of Sam (pro – it'll be faster, con – the kid seems liable to have a fit if Dean so much as looks at him funny) but finally Sam speaks.

"It's Jess," he says quietly, which is no surprise. Dean's already figured out that it's about her. "I think I should tell her."

Dean frowns at Sam, confused. "About the dream?"

"No. About monsters," Sam says, which is a surprise, and no less confusing, apart from maybe explaining some of why Sammy's stressing so bad. Dean takes a moment to try to puzzle it out but he's going to need more information for this one.

"Okay, I'm lost. What does the dream have to do with telling Jess about monsters?"

Sam still won't look at Dean. His hands are fidgeting in his lap, anxiously twisting his medical alert bracelet around on his wrist. "Because the dream... it's Jess on the ceiling, just like Mom."

It seems entirely possible that someone might have just thrown a bucket of ice water over Dean's head. It definitely feels that way, minus the tangible wetness but keeping the sudden cold shock. Of all the things Sammy's brain could've come up with... This definitely wasn't on Dean's mental list of possible problems, but now the kid's waiting for a response and it was Dean's idea to talk about this – he just didn't know that _this_ was this – so come on, Dean, talk.

"Oh. Oh, well, okay, " he stammers, thinking fast. "Well, that makes sense, I guess."

Sam looks at him sharply and he can tell that the kid doesn't think it makes sense at all.

"I mean, it's that time of year, isn't it?" Dean continues. "Mom's anniversary. And you have school and epilepsy and that interview to stress about. So your brain's just mashing it all together into nightmares."

Sam frowns dubiously. "You really think that's all it is?"

"Well, we should probably throw in some weird med side effects. You're on so many pills I'm surprised you're not seeing crazy stuff while you're awake, you junkie."

The jibe startles a smile out of Sam but it's fleeting and Dean knows he's not convinced.

"Okay, well, how about this? Can you remember what was going on when the nightmares started? Did something happen with Jess?"

Sam shakes his head slowly. "No, I don't think so. Everything was fine – more than fine, it was... oh."

"Oh?" Dean encourages, because Sam's 'oh' is definitely the sound of sudden clarity. They might just be getting to the bottom of all this.

"Oh," Sam says again, apparently, and infuriatingly, too deep in thought to share his revelation with the rest of the damn class, geez, this kid.

"Oh _what_ , Sam? The suspense is killing me here."

Sam glances at him, looking a little too surprised to see him sitting there for Dean's liking, but whatever, if the kid zoned out for a moment, it was only a brief one.

"Well, before the nightmares started... I was sort of thinking... well, I kind of decided..."

"Oh my God, Sam, spit it out."

"I'm going to ask Jess to marry me," Sam says finally, ducking back behind his hair like he's embarrassed. "I decided right before the nightmares started, and then I just sort of put the planning on hold while I tried to get a handle on them..."

Dean can tell his jaw has dropped and he's definitely staring at Sam like a big goofy idiot and his mind is going haywire with the sudden surge of elation hitting so soon after such an ice cold shock. He can't think of anything to say other than, "Holy shit, Sam, really?!" and, like he just can't help it, Sammy's face breaks into the first smile Dean's seen since he got here.

"Oh my God, Sammy, that's... that's fucking awesome! Oh my God." Jesus Christ, he sounds like a thirteen year old girl but he can't seem to stop himself and, what with the way Sammy's grinning self-consciously at him from under all that ridiculous hair, he doesn't really want to, instead choosing to drag Sam into a giddy embrace.

Sam laughs. "I haven't actually asked her yet, remember. She could say no."

"She's not going to say no," Dean says, pulling away so Sam can have some breathing room. Kid's looking a little light-headed. "There is no way she would say no. When are you going to ask her?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'd only just decided to do it when the nightmares started, so I got kind of distracted... Not now, anyway."

Of course, it's not the best time of the year for proposals, not with the anniversary of Mom's death hanging over them all like a dark, gloomy cloud, the stress of Dad's disappearance, and Sam's big interview coming up.

"I should tell her the truth first though, shouldn't I? That's probably what the nightmare means..." Sam trails off with a sigh. "She's going to think I'm crazy."

"She's not going to think you're crazy," Dean scoffs, determined not to let Sammy rain on his own parade. "She already knows you're not crazy."

Sam makes a face at him. " _Monsters_ , Dean. She'll think I've got drug-induced psychosis or something."

"So tell her when I'm around. I'll back you up." Dean can't help grinning to himself, trying to imagine Jess's face. "I could show her what's in the Impala's trunk."

Sam smacks his shoulder. "It's not an excuse for you to show off, Dean! Anyway, if she sees that, she'll think you're a serial killer."

"No, she won't. She's not an idiot, Sam. She already knows we're hiding something from her. All you need to do is tell the truth."

"It's not that simple," Sam says.

"No," Dean concedes, "But it's not that hard either."

"Not now," Sam warns him. "I can't do it now, there's way too much going on. And I still need to save for a ring anyway... I don't want anything to change yet."

"Not now," Dean agrees.

"And don't you dare drop any hints around Jess about me asking her to marry me. Not even jokes, Dean, or I swear I won't ask you to be my best man." Sam waves a finger at him threateningly, a smile creeping back onto his face.

"Cross my heart," Dean swears, trying to sound solemn, but Sam's grin is contagious and he can't keep a straight face. Best man, huh. He likes the sound of that.

 **To Be Continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Before Tomorrow**

Summary: Dad's missing, November 2nd is approaching, and now Jess is calling saying that there's something up with Sam. Dean heads to Palo Alto to try to figure out what's going on. EpilepticSam 'verse.

Chapter Three

The atmosphere in the apartment is much lighter that afternoon. Jess is back and making chocolate chip cookies – after Dean point blank refused to help her make cupcakes on account of them being far too girly – and Sam is spacey but no longer snappy, sitting at the kitchen table reading one of his textbooks in between being distracted by Jess and Dean's inane conversations, which started with how Jess's shift went and has somehow arrived at which Smurf would make the best boyfriend for Smurfette.

"You're both wrong," Sam says, after Dean and Jess have argued Hefty and Handy Smurf's virtues respectively. "It should be Jokey. Remember when he dressed up as Don Smurfo and stole one of Azreal's whiskers to impress Smurfette? He was totally expressing his love for her, but then she discovered his secret identity and he went back to hiding his true feelings and the pain of unrequited love under his clown-like mask."

Jess is looking at Sam the same way she looks at adorable cats on the internet, all smiley and misty-eyed. Dean, however, is pretty sure his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline.

"You have given this way too much thought." He brandishes his spoon at Sam accusingly and the corner of Sam's mouth quirks up into a smile.

"Jess likes the Smurfs." He shrugs. "And college has programmed me to over-analyse the crap out of everything."

"And yet you're still wrong. Hefty can protect her from Gargamel..." Dean trails off, rolling his eyes at himself. "Oh, Jesus, you two have turned me into one of you," he grumbles, turning back to the mixing bowl as he shakes his head in mock disgust. "Only five year olds should know this much about Smurfs."

He can tell that Sam and Jess are grinning at each other behind his back and can't suppress a private smile of his own. It might be too early to know how well Sam will sleep but, as Dean predicted (because, duh, Sammy, you should've listened to your big brother from the start) the kid's obviously relieved to get everything off his chest and tentatively willing to accept Dean's explanation for the recurring nightmare. Dean himself is feeling pretty confident that he's gotten to the bottom of things. Sam's going to be just fine once the current stresses in his life resolve themselves. Now all Dean has to do is track down Dad and everything will be perfect. And right now, standing here in his soon-to-be sister-in-law and little brother's kitchen, it's pretty easy to feel confident about that too.

XXX

The next morning there's a voicemail from Dad on Dean's freshly charged phone (he blames the few-too-many beers he had with Jess last night – Sam strictly ordered to stick to water – for forgetting to plug it in). And okay, the voicemail is a little concerning – definitely some EVP static distorting Dad's voice – but at last Dean knows where to go, what to do. At last he has proof that Dad's okay and a total dick for leaving him hanging so long, which he is totally going to tell the man once he tracks him down, even though right now he's really damn happy to be thinking about what a dick his father is because it means Dad's alive to be a dick.

Dean can sense eyes on him. Sam, wanting to hear who called, if it was Dad, and Jess, probably wondering at the sudden tension filling the small kitchen, and thinks carefully about his wording before he takes the phone from his ear and turns to face them.

They're sitting at the kitchen table, Jess a little hungover and Sam a little vague but the kid actually slept the whole night so he's looking better than he has since Dean got here. Jess is cradling her coffee like she's afraid someone will take it away from her, long hair tumbling in sleep-mussed curls over her shoulders. She's wearing her Smurf t-shirt and sweatpants and looks completely adorable, because she's the kind of girl who can't look anything else, even when she's looking a little green.

"What's going on?" she asks, eyes moving from Sam's tense shoulders to Dean's hopefully-neutral face.

"Nothing," Dean says lightly, with a deliberate exasperated roll of his eyes. "We were right, Sam. Seems like Dad's planning on spending November 2nd getting plastered." He doesn't feel bad about the lie – he'd be shocked if Dad hadn't been having more than his fair share of drinks lately – and Sam knows what they were right about. Going MIA on hunts this time of year isn't exactly new, even if this is by far the longest Dad's gone without checking in, and it's no surprise to find that Dad's thrown himself into a case it turns out he needs help with.

"Did he say where he is?" Sam asks, which has Jess shooting him a questioning glance over her coffee cup.

Dean nods. "Not even that far from here. I can go hunt him down."

"Is he okay?" Jess asks, directing her question at Dean so she misses the way Sam flinches a little at the word 'hunt' or maybe just at the fact that they're having an entirely different conversation to the one Jess thinks they're having.

"Yeah, he'll be fine," Dean says dismissively, waving off Jess's concern. "He does this pretty much every year."

"You're leaving now?" Sam asks, before Jess can pry any further, watching the way Dean's patting down his jacket, checking for keys and wallet. He slips his phone into a side pocket.

"'fraid so, Sammy," Dean says, just to watch Sam scowl at the nickname. "I'll come check in after I see Dad though, how's that? Maybe I can drag him away long enough for a visit."

Sam makes a face that expresses his doubt at Dean's ability to stop Dad jumping from this hunt to the next with the single-minded blood-lust that erupts in the man towards the end of October but all the same, can't quite hide his longing for a visit from his father. "That'd be nice," he says guardedly.

"We should do Thanksgiving," Jess says, apparently giving up on trying to understand the undeniably heavy atmosphere brought on by Dad's voice message. She's too smart not to know when there's something going on but thankfully too hungover to hit them up. Hopefully she'll be so happy to have Sam sleeping again that she won't press the kid when Dean leaves. Gift horses and all that. "My parent are flying out to my brother and sister-in-law's place this year and there's, like, no way I'm going to stay at Princess Better-Than-Everyone's house. You and your Dad should come here. I can cook. I mean, I've never done a full Thanksgiving thing before but I think I can put something decent together-"

She breaks off as she notices the smirks Dean and Sam are throwing each other, looking bewildered and a little defensive. "What? I'm sure I can do it."

Dean shakes his head, still grinning as he crosses the kitchen to pull Jess out of her chair and into a hug. "Not that, dumbass. We grew up on the road with a single father; whatever you do will probably be the fanciest Thanksgiving we've ever had. Right, Sammy?" he asks over her shoulder.

"Definitely," Sam agrees, but behind Jess's back he shifts uneasily at the mention of their past. Dean wonders if he's put his foot in it, maybe leading Jess towards more questions Sam doesn't want to answer yet, but Jess doesn't push the subject.

"Well, is that a yes then?" she asks, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"I'll see what I can do. I can't make promises for Dad but I can probably swing it." He hopes, anyway. If he takes on hunts close to Palo Alto between now and then, surely he can fit in some time with Jess and Sammy. He can see the doubt he feels reflected in Sam's eyes though. Monsters don't exactly give a crap about Thanksgiving plans and if Dean has to bail on Jess's dinner because of a hunt, it'll be one more thing they'll have to lie about. Maybe Sam's right and it is about time they told her the truth. Jess is tough. She can handle it.

"Look after yourself, Sammy-" Dean starts, releasing Jess to drag Sam up for a hug, a proper one, none of that manly 'slap on the back and pull away' stuff, not when Dean's heading off to whatever – probably dangerous – hunt Dad wants help with and Sam's medical condition means there's always a possibility that the kid might not wake up from one of his seizures some day.

"Take your meds, get some sleep, and eat your crazy seizure food," Sam finishes with him, reluctantly drawing back. "I know your goodbye speech by heart, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm serious, Sam. If I get a call saying you're in the hospital, I'm gonna be pissed."

"Yeah, sure," Sam says sarcastically, "I'll just tell my brain to stop short-circuiting."

"Just don't encourage it, all right?" Dean jabs a finger at Sam threateningly. "I'm gonna be back and if I find out you haven't been sleeping I'm gonna kick your ass. And Jess, you have my permission to do it in the meantime."

"Awesome," Jess says gleefully, bumping her hip playfully against Sam's side as she slides her arm around his waist. Automatically, it seems, Sam's arm curls around her shoulders and for one stupid, sappy moment Dean wants to take a picture of the two of them, right there, right now. His baby brother and the girl he's going to marry, looking so damn adorable and happy and in love. He doesn't, of course, because he's not a huge mushy girl like Sam is.

"I'll give you a call when I meet up with Dad. You two call me whenever you want, and especially if there's an emergency, okay?"

"I always call you when Sam needs you, whether he wants me to or not," Jess says, a sly smile curling the corner of her mouth while Sam rolls his eyes and grumbles good-naturedly.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Dean grins.

"I thought that was my baking," Jess teases.

"That too," Dean concedes. Jess's culinary prowess is only one of the many reasons Dean has for loving her almost as much as Sam does. He resists the urge to drag them both into another hug, reminding himself that he's not even planning on being gone for that long. He'll see them again soon, if not after the hunt with Dad, then for whatever awesome Thanksgiving feast Jess cooks up, which is bound to be a million times better than any of the many turkey sandwiches he's eaten in diners across the country over the years. Maybe Dad will even make an appearance and it'll be like a real family Thanksgiving for once.

"Be good, Sammy," Dean teases one last time, ruffling Sam's hair as the kid drops back into his seat. Jess perches herself on his knee and wraps her arms around his neck. "Don't drink too much, Jessie."

"Urgh, I'm never drinking again," Jess declares, pressing her fingers against her temple with a wince.

"What about at the Halloween party tonight?" Dean suggests innocently, and both Jess and Sam's heads bob up in surprise.

"Dean..." Sam says.

"That's not... we don't have to go," Jess says awkwardly.

"But then Sam would miss out on whatever killer costume you have picked out." He winks at her and Jess blushes. He bets her costume is sexy as hell. He grins at Sam. "You wouldn't want to miss that, would you, Sammy?"

Sam sighs. "I don't know, Dean."

This kid is impossible. "Go to the party, Sam. That's an order."

Sam just raises an eyebrow sceptically. "An order?"

Dean raises his hands in supplication. "All right, it's a hopeful suggestion. Go have fun with Jess and your friends. It's just one night. You can worry about your interview and everything else tomorrow."

Sam looks from Dean to Jess, who's trying so hard to look like she's fine with doing whatever Sam wants, including staying home, even though it's obvious she's dying to go to the party. Sam runs a hand down his face, outnumbered. "Okay, fine, I'll go. Happy now?"

"Very," Dean confirms, as Jess's face lights up and she jumps off of Sam's knee to pull him to his feet, hangover apparently forgotten.

"Come see my costume," she begs. Funny how Sam hates Halloween, and Christmas, and pretty much any major holiday, and somehow has ended up with a girl who loves all of them.

"Send photos," Dean calls over his shoulder as he heads to the sitting room to scoop up his bag and Jess drags Sam towards the bedroom.

"I am _not_ sending pics of my girlfriend for you to perve over, Dean," Sam calls back.

"I meant of _you_ , Sammy. If Jess manages to get you dressed up, I sure as hell want to see it. Future blackmail fodder and all that."

"Haha," Sam says dryly, "I'm not-"

"Oh please," Jess's voice cuts in. "It's so much more fun if you dress up!"

"Seriously? Dean, this is your fault!"

"You're welcome," Dean grins. He takes one last look around Jess and Sam's apartment before he regretfully reaches for the door handle.

 _Soon_ , he tells himself. He'll see them again soon.

 **The End.**


End file.
